CHAPTER 4
Paisley
Everyone is hammered drunk,including my mom. They’re talking about the next place they want to go, but I’m dreaming of returning to the hotel. Comfortable sweats, a glass of rosé, and a remote control sound like my idea of a perfect Friday night. I also would not like to waste the luxurious suite my mother shelled out for. The robe hanging in the hotel closet is softer than newborn kitten fur, and coincidentally has my name on it.
I’ve stuck around the restaurant to pay the bill using the credit card I placed on file to hold the table. I’m supposed to meet the rest of the party out front, but what are the chances they’ll be too drunk to remember my instructions and wander off to the next destination without me? Pretty high, considering I feel extemporaneous to the group as it is.
Just like in the hotel room earlier, they’re not intentionally placing me on the outskirts, but it’s where I am. I don’t have funny or cute stories to share about Sienna and Shane, like the other four women in our party. I fakesmile and laugh my way through their tellings, but otherwise I’m quiet.
The server, Lexi, brings me the receipt to sign. Gratuity is included, but I add one hundred dollars and total out the bill. Somebody might as well have something good happen to them tonight.
I knew this weekend would be the ultimate test in my patience, but it’s already more difficult than I thought it would be. If it’s not the bridesmaids and how they’re hanging on every word my sister speaks that’s obnoxious, it’s my sister and the way she won’t stop gushing over Shane. I tuned her out halfway through dinner, then finished her chile-dusted fries out of spite while she recounted the time she was sick and he brought her soup and crackers and sparkling water.
Making my way across the restaurant, I march into the women’s room and slip into the only available stall in the middle.
Two doors on either side of me open, heels smack the tile, and sink water runs.
A voice rings out. “It’s pathetic, right?”
A second voice sounds in response. “Oh, totally.”
I freeze. I know those voices. It’s two of my sister’s bridesmaids, but I’m uncertain which two.
“I mean, how is she even surviving tonight? I thought she was going todiewhen Sienna said Shane’s nickname for her is ‘Blondie’.
My elbows hit my knees, and my head drops into my hands. They’re talking about me. How embarrassing.
For what it’s worth, they’re wrong. I did not feel like dying when Sienna said Shane’s nickname for her is thevery same nickname he gave me. What I really wanted to do was land a punch on that smooth jaw of his. Not because it hurts my feelings, but because my little sister deserves better than my nickname leftovers.
The shrill sound of a zipper fills the air, followed by the noise of rifling through something. A purse, probably. I stare at the honeycomb-shaped tile, waiting for them to finish and leave.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead throwing my sister a bachelorette party when she’s marrying my ex.”
“I know, right? Sienna said she’s not bringing a date to the wedding, either.”
A pause follows, and I’m imagining an expression of shock and horror.
“Ouch.”
“I think she works all the time and doesn’t have a life.”
“Did Sienna say that to you?”
“It was more that I was hearing what she wasn’t saying.”
My head snaps up. My hands shake and my face heats, Paloma’s words from earlier mixing with this current gossip. I might let my family walk all over me, but that’s where I draw the line. I’m going to step out of the stall and watch those girls’ mouths drop open when they realize I’ve heard every word.
Except I had three glasses of water with dinner, and this is taking too long. As soon as I’m done I hustle through adjusting my dress, taking one precious second to twist my gaze around and make sure my dress isn’t tucked into my underwear. A wardrobe malfunction would be icing on the shit cake that is this night.
Taking a quick, deep breath, I throw open the door, poised to deliver the biggest shock of their week.
They’re gone.
I meet my gaze in the mirror above one of the sinks. My dress is as short and tight as the event and local trends necessitate. My hair is blown out and curled, my makeup is on point. From the outside I appear young and carefree. On the inside, I feel emotionally haggard, a person who’s had too much asked of them.
I finish washing my hands as a buzzing comes from inside my purse.
My sister texts.
